


A Need to Feel

by stuphanie



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Hatred, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuphanie/pseuds/stuphanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noiz reassesses his life and makes a few bold choices. What he least expects is for Koujaku to point him in a direction off his path of self-loathing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Need to Feel

You wake up when you decide that you can't ignore the sun shining persistently through the blinds anymore – and there it is. That ache, that want that has been manifesting itself as a small, nagging voice at the back of your mind. It’s reminded you of something that you can’t ever have or experience, and that bothers you.

It’s the need to feel.

You remain in bed with your arm over your eyes to block out the blinding light. In turn, you tug on each of your piercings, starting at the ears then to your eyebrow then your nose and your lip and before you know it your hand is travelling down your chest and brushing against the metal there until you finally reach your cock. It’s half-hard and you hadn’t even realised. Even as you twist the ladder of piercings there it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel like _anything_ , really. Except perhaps a dull sensation. You know you’re doing it but if it was anyone else then you don’t think that you’d even be aware.

The jealousy strikes you suddenly and passes fairly quickly, but in those few seconds you envy those who know the sensation of clean bed sheets, of another’s skin against theirs or how their fingers might tangle into their pet’s fur. It’s not the pain you want, but you miss out on all those sensations. You think of someone – a guy that is probably built like Mink – and idly fantasise about two of them entering you at once. They are faceless but the thought of two dicks tearing you open so that you experience something than can even close to being _described_ as pain makes you hard and you come within ten minutes.

The desperation is as strong as it’s ever been; it makes you angry because there’s never been anything that you can’t have. Even when you received the tattoo from Mizuki all those weeks ago you were furious that you weren’t even dimly aware of the needle gouging its path in your skin. You asked for it to be on your foot, because that was where you heard that it hurt the most, and Mizuki had raised his eyebrows and asked if you were sure. When he was done you paid him and left and tore the clingfilm off as soon as you got home. It was a well-drawn jumble of black letters. It was German so only you would understand it, but now you think about it, the phrase actually means nothing at all except for the reason being that it was an experiment.

Finally, you drag your sorry ass out of bed and shower. You’ve no idea what to do with your day now that Rhyme isn’t as popular as it used to be. Sure, you get odd jobs here and there. They’re not great but it pays for your expensive flat so you don’t question it. Once you’re dressed in your normal attire you leave the flat with some kind of purpose in mind. You’re not sure where you’re going but you let your feet carry you anyway. Fleetingly, you think of Aoba and his shock of blue hair. You’re almost tempted to go to his house but you take a sharp turn in the opposite direction. Secondly, Clear and his ludicrous gas mask cross your mind. You shake the thought away. No one deserves to be tainted by your own self-loathing right now. No one that you know or are even close to caring about, anyway. There’s always Koujaku, and you love to fuck with him, but today it’s just too much effort.

You find yourself in a decrepit alley of some unknown gang territory. There’s a handful of guys and the biggest, meanest-looking one crosses over to you in five long strides and almost seems to take up the entire space between the two buildings. He asks you what you want and you almost antagonise him for the sake of it but the words catch in your throat when you realise that that is not what you want right now. Instead, you change tack at last second, and you casually ask him if he’d like to fuck you in the alley. He gets mad and slams you into the wall. He calls you disgusting names but it’s nothing that you’re not used to. He sees the seriousness in your face and his eyes narrow in suspicion. You can tell that he’s debating whether or not to take you up on your offer – or simply throw you to the floor and let his gang mates take care of you instead. But then he jerks his head, releasing you from the wall and you follow him deeper into the alleyway. The other guys glare and snarl as you pass but otherwise ignore you. Eventually, you come to a small secluded area. It’s the kind of place that people go to hit up on drugs. Even for a quick fuck, and that’s what you’re here for.

You yank your trousers and boxers down and turn around to lean against a dumpster, though not before you catch a glimpse of the other guy’s dick. He’s hard and huge and suddenly you can’t wait for him to penetrate you. He positions himself behind you and, secretly, you’re glad that he doesn’t prep you and that he goes in dry, because now you might actually feel something. You grunt as you feel a heavy pressure in your lower body but that’s it. He’s told you his name but it doesn’t matter because chances are you’re not going to be shouting it when you come anyway. Suddenly, he turns you around, growling something about wanting to see your face and the pain you’re in or whatever. Out of impulse, you ask him to hit you. He looks surprised only for a moment before a heavy fist collides with your mouth. You spit blood and smile that shit eating smirk everybody hates so much when you tell him that wasn’t hard enough. He punches you again and again while he fucks you and you almost laugh when you tell him to ram you harder. The guy does and you almost want him to fuck the hate out of you, for you to walk bow-legged and for blood and come to leak out your ass, because maybe then you’d have a reminder that this quick lay isn’t a complete waste of time. A hand is around your throat and you only become aware of it once your vision starts to cloud and red spots appear in front of your eyes. You’re on the verge to passing out when the hulking monstrosity that’s fucking you suddenly comes with an unbefitting whine. The moment he’s done he pulls his trousers up and leaves, though not before throwing another punch to your face, your eye this time. As he leaves you look down and realise that your dick is still flaccid. You didn’t expect him to engage in mutually gratifying sex but it hits you that you were too busy focused on that one thing, on wanting to feel, that you didn’t care about getting off. Right now, everything that you do is some kind of sick experiment. The tattoo, the fuck in the alley, even going back to when you got innumerable needles pushed into your skin purely for aesthetics and you feel emptier than you did even before you were full of dick and come.

You walk past the gang members without so much of a limp. They jeer at you as you walk by, the ever arrogant nineteen year old. But even as you spare them a disdainful glance you remember that you’re twenty now, and you have been on Midorijima for a little over a year. Time flies when nearly all of your time here consisted of helping people that you barely see anymore. A stab of revulsion pierces you as you find yourself thinking back to the Platinum Jail incident like a fond memory. Even so, it’s the closest you’ve ever had to friends.

With a growl you pick up your walking pace. Minutes later you find yourself approaching Black Needle almost as if out of habit. You’re too busy looking up at the sign that you don’t recognise the blur of red until you bump into it. The man pulls back and starts muttering an apology until he realises who you are.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says, a sneer evident on his face.

“Your eyesight that bad already, old man?” you mock. You could easily sidestep Koujaku and avoid this territorial pissing competition but it’s too much of a golden opportunity to antagonise him.

“Shut up, brat,” he snaps. He looks you over briefly with a disdainful eyebrow raised. “What happened to you?”

You look down and see that your shirt is flecked with your blood. You probably have a bruise blossoming beneath your eye and your mouth is most likely crusted with blood, but you just shrug. “I never knew that you cared so much.”

“I don’t, I just want to congratulate whoever gave you a beating,” the other quips.

You pretend to look offended, clutching your chest in a mocking manner. “That cut deep. Tell you what, I’ll let you patch me up and I’ll blow you for free.”

Koujaku snorts and attempts to move past you. He’s bored now but you don’t want to let him go without a fight. Not just yet.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you ask, blocking his way with a smirk. Something twitches in his jaw and you know that you’re close to setting him off. “Fine you don’t have to clean up my face but surely you won't pass up a blowjob?” You grin as Koujaku’s lip curls.

“Why would I want one from you?”

“Because I’m good.”

“Whatever. You’re a freak. I’m leaving.”

You let him walk a few steps before shouting out in desperation. “That’s fine – but I bet you’d let Aoba do it to you.”

Koujaku suddenly swings round and charges at you, tackling you into an alleyway. You laugh as he growls when he pins you down; you finally got him to bite back and that’s all that matters. He lays into you and after the third or fourth punch you catch his fist from raining down on you again. He forces against you but you’re resistant.

“Like you mean it,” you whisper, and for a moment, Koujaku falters.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“I said, hit me like you mean it, Koujaku.”

He visibly deflates when you say his name. For a moment, he looks like he’s going to give you the beating of a lifetime, enough to possibly knock you out, but then his arm falls to his side. He can see your deadpan expression and the lack of emotion behind your eyes and he knows that you won’t fight back. He knows that you were just baiting him, like always, but suddenly it dawns on him that you were poking at him for a reason. This reason; the reason why you’re on your back and body uselessly splayed out on the gravel. Koujaku can see that you would take his hits deservingly, and that’s what causes him to stand up, take a deep breath and brush himself down.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Koujaku sighs and stares down at you. For the first time, you feel a slight twinge of embarrassment. “I’m not going to hit you, Noiz. Go home. Sort yourself out. Whatever it is you want I’m not going to give it to you.”

Then he looks at you with… pity? Revulsion and anger mix into a sickening combination in the pit of your stomach. You hate how he’s looking at you and you can sense that there’s something else in his tone of voice. It’s not low and gentle, it’s normal, the voice he uses to speak to Mizuki and everyone else. As if you’re not you.

You’re confused and you wonder if Koujaku isn’t going to hit you because it’d almost be like doing you a favour. He spares you one last glance before he leaves, and you wonder if you look as empty as you truly feel.

**Author's Note:**

> uhh okay so this is my first fic on here and first one in second person. i hope it wasn't too much/ too little or not what you were expecting - but still, feedback would be appreciated! u3u


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